


to hold a wolf by the ears

by jeonkwon, peach25



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood and Violence, M/M, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-01-28 18:02:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12612280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeonkwon/pseuds/jeonkwon, https://archiveofourown.org/users/peach25/pseuds/peach25
Summary: A figure steps up to where Jihoon is slumped against the wall, eyes rolling and body trembling. He’s going to die he’s going to die he’s going to die. The figure crouches and darts forward, slashing cleanly at his throat.Pain shoots up the side of his neck, and he thinks,this is it.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> ur faves are back with a new au! we meant to post this on the 31st for halloween but i took a long ass nap instead, so. that's how college is going lmao :') -calli
> 
> here we go again, this time with a trope we'll never be able to escape: vampires -trin
> 
> (this whole au is because trin and i secretly rly like twilight literally fight us)

He’s dying. 

Jihoon can feel it, finally knows his body giving up. It’s okay though, if only because everyone else he loves is dead too, overwhelmed by the Spanish flu like the rest of Chicago. _Stupid _, he thinks, staring at the grimy brick alley wall. _Stupid way to die _. Jihoon closes his eyes, drifting in and out of consciousness for a while. Minutes? Hours? Later, he wakes to the sound of voices, low and rough.____

____“...any money on ‘im?”_ _ _ _

____“...doesn’t. Poor fuckin’ bastard.”_ _ _ _

____“Maybe we should...out of his…”_ _ _ _

____“...doin’ the kid a favor, really…”_ _ _ _

____“...anything...use?”_ _ _ _

____“...get your...dirty, huh?”_ _ _ _

____Hands stop patting him down to jerk him upright instead, and through his fever-haze, Jihoon sees a flash of silver. _Knife _, his brain supplies helpfully. Fuck. They’re going to kill him. Put him out his misery like they would a rabid dog.___ _ _ _

______Quite honestly, a part of him is grateful. Jihoon just wants to feel nothing, wants the hallucinations and pain and vomiting to end. Maybe he’ll see his parents again and-_ _ _ _ _ _

______The hands disappear. There’s the sick sound of snapping bone accompanied by a two short, gurgled screams and then another figure steps up to where Jihoon is slumped against the wall, eyes rolling and body trembling. _He’s going to die he’s going to die he’s going to die _. The figure crouches and darts forward, slashing cleanly at his throat.___ _ _ _ _ _

________Pain shoots up the side of his neck, and he thinks, _this is it _.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________He can’t feel anything. Actually, that’s a lie; he can feel everything, and it’s as if he’s being burned alive and shredded open and torn apart from the inside out. An awful scream echoes in the alley, and Jihoon vaguely comes to the conclusion that it’s him. He doesn’t think death is supposed to hurt this much._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________His eyes shoot open, and he sees a face staring down at him, irises the color of rubies and twice as bright. Probably the devil. He’s gone to hell and his punishment is to endure agony for eternity. Great. Jihoon gasps for air, chest heaving as the pain momentarily dissipates, only to come back twice as bad a few seconds later.  
Another scream rips its way out of Jihoon’s throat, and this time his spine arches clean off of the ground, fast enough that his entire body is propelled upwards to slam forward into the man’s chest, knocking him backwards. Jihoon thuds back down, and with a sharp inhale, it all ends. No fire licking at his insides, no acid bubbling on his skin. Just relief, and an acute awareness of everything around him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Jihoon opens his mouth to speak, but finds he can’t, brain still floaty at the sensation of being in pain and then in not-pain so quickly. He roughly evaluates his condition, wincing as he moves various parts of his body. Jihoon feels fine, though his throat is dry to the point it physically hurts, thorns scraping up and down every time he swallows. He’s not dead. He’s not _dead _. Or is he?___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________There’s no tell-tale rush of blood to his head when he sits up, no spots swimming in his vision, no vertigo. He’s gotten so used to it while being sick, the absence of nausea is confusing. Jihoon retches involuntarily, dry heaving a few times in an attempt to throw up food that isn’t there._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“Can you hear me?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Eyes trailing to his left, Jihoon recoils, scrambling back to distance himself from the man crouching close beside him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“Who are you?” Jihoon snarls, gnashing his teeth in (what he hopes is) a threatening action. (He just feels weak). “Get away.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________The man straightens, brushing off his clothes. He looks well off; his pants and shirt are crisp white and clean, a stark contrast to Chicago’s dirty, smog pumped streets. Jihoon’s own clothes are tattered. The man grimaces, looking down at Jihoon in a way he immediately hates._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“A friend, if you’ll let me be one.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________A laugh, hoarse and disbelieving. “Yeah, right.” Jihoon takes a good look around him, shuddering when he realizes he’s scooted into a warm puddle of dark blood. _Fuckfuckfuck _. “Go away!”___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________The man looks conflicted, hands curling into fists and uncurling before he drops an envelope, turning around to leave. “Get to Yoon’s,” the man pleads. “He’ll help you, give you food, explain things.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________Explain what _, Jihoon wants to scream.__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________He walks away then, Jihoon waiting until he’s completely gone before lunging for the envelope, tearing it open with ease. The letter inside is written on coppery crimson paper, and Jihoon has to fight a very real, disconcerting urge not to bite into it. The scent of blood from the dead men must be getting to him, the smell sickly-sweet, cloying in his nostrils and on his tongue. He gags again._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________2896 Rose Ave.  
Yoon Jeonghan  
Tyri ~ “Sanctum, Victus” ____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________After a moment of hesitation, Jihoon picks himself off the street, stumbling out of the alley and into a hazy, bustling city._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jihoon coughs as he walks, the sound violent, blood bubbling in the back of his throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’m posting this bc i’m avoiding my essay someone write it for me????

Jihoon glides through the streets, easily dodging the pedestrians who come too close for his liking. He can see how effortlessly he moves in the reflections of windows, walking mechanically without a flaw in his step, but in reality, it feels like he’s floundering. His throat is parched, and he has to curl his fingers into fists, pressing his nails deeply into his palm to keep from scratching his throat out. He tries drinking water, tries hard cider, tries everything he can get his hands on in the past few days. Nothing dulls the soreness in his throat, the sharp, insistent pain. 

He presses on through the city, ignoring those who curse him as he rushes carelessly through the streets, searching desperately for Rose Avenue. Jihoon can see so clearly, even as he moves quickly down the sidewalk. It scares him though, just another thing that’s off-kilter ever since he left that alley. His eyes catch every detail -- from a smudge of ink on a newspaper print to a thread that hangs loose from the seam of a lady’s blouse. When he can pay so much attention to such trivial things as he passes, he thinks it should make his search for this place easier than it is.

But the new sensations distract him, brain disoriented and still confused. Ever since his encounter with the man in the alley a few days back, he’s felt like a new person. Nothing explains his miraculous recovery from a deadly case of the Spanish flu, nor his improved sight. He must still be sick though. Jihoon hasn’t stopped coughing, the force of it burning his already raw throat.

His thoughts jumble when a man walks by him, Jihoon inhaling some sweet scent, one that he can’t quite attribute to anything yet, and he nearly growls. The fire in Jihoon’s throat multiplies ten times, and this is always how it’s been since he met that man in the alley. Jihoon craves and craves, but he can’t figure out what it is that he wants. It’s frustrating, enough to the point that Jihoon loses his temper in front of a bar when the owners can’t give him what he wants. He leaves the place in shambles, customers and owners cowering in fear as he storms out. 

Before he can deter from his search for Yoon’s, he pauses, closing his eyes and taking in deep breaths to maintain composure. The setting sun paints the back of his lids orange, red dotting the center. With his eyes closed, his hearing heightens to distinguish the sounds that had melded together: the sound of children giggling as they play a game of tag in the courtyard to his right, the murmur of women tending to flowers that decorate their storefront, men who grumble about how time seems to pass so slowly these days. The sputter of the few Ford Model Ts that roam the streets at this time of day were only here to showcase the driver’s wealth, an arrogant entitlement that Jihoon himself has never, and will never, get to enjoy. 

As his thirst slowly subsides into something tolerable, Jihoon continues on. He had lived in Chicago his whole life, but not once has he ever heard any mention of a place under the ownership of a group named Tyri. But Jihoon supposes he’s spent so much of the past few weeks of his life in panic over the Spanish flu pandemic, and after that, spent three days in agony and delirium as he prepared for his inevitable death, that many things could have happened between then and now. 

He catches the words _Rose Ave _. on a street sign to his left, and makes a sharp turn, scanning the buildings for its numbers. In his chest, it feels hollow where his heart should be beating fast in anticipation of what’s to come. Even after tentatively sliding two fingers up his neck, pressing it against the side of his windpipe, he can’t feel the rhythm of his heart. Jihoon chokes, terror washing over him in waves. He can’t feel his heart. Fear mixes with thirst, and he stumbles on down the road, gaze flicking from house number to number. Jihoon coughs as he walks, the sound violent, blood bubbling in the back of his throat. Some distant part of his brain is sated, pleased.__

____

____

_“He’ll help you, give you food, explain things,”_ The man had said. _Well_ , Jihoon thinks to himself, _this Yoon Jeonghan better know how to rip my throat out, because I’m about to do it myself. And my heart while he’s at it, because there’s something wrong with mine._

__

__

The building numbers start to grow bigger as Jihoon follows down the street. 2884, 2890, and then… 2896. In all honesty, it looks no different from any other building around it except for its size. Relative to its surrounding neighbors, the building looks small and compact, reaching up only four floors while the rest tower over it. Despite its seemingly small size, it reminds Jihoon of the edifice down the street from his home, imposing and cold. There’s no sign to attract attention like the others, no Tyri, no Yoon Jeonghan, no _“Sanctum, Victus.”_ In fact, Jihoon finds no form of identification aside from the golden numbers hanging vertically beside the frame of its grand doors. For a brief moment, Jihoon wonders how Yoon Jeonghan manages to keep the city’s government from demolishing it when it appears to serve no purpose to the public. 

Pausing before the first steps to the building, Jihoon looks up and down the street once more. The people bustling about don’t pay him any attention, focused on running their own errands. In what should have been a surge of adrenaline that rushes through his body, Jihoon feels nothing but the wind blowing against his back. He suddenly feels angry. 

__Before the past three days, he’d been suffering from the Spanish flu, wandering about on the brink of death. His family had died before him, his closest friends dropping like flies one by one till Jihoon was all alone, and yet there are people out here carrying out their business as if there is nothing wrong. There’s no fear, almost like they’re accepting what will happen and don’t want to bother putting up a fight, instead warmly welcoming death with open arms. He coughs again, wincing as something thick and warm comes up._ _

________Jihoon spits on the ground, angrily grinding his teeth. He walks up the steps, raising a hand to knock. He better get some damn good answers here._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jihoon balks. “What. What did you _do_ to me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello please enjoy this chapter <3 -trin

“Hello,” someone says, and Jihoon snaps his head up from where he’d been staring at his weird spit stain, dark red and clotted. 

A boy stares back at him, dark hair glossy and falling into his eyes unkempt. His clothes look fancy, black slacks and a rich, jewel-toned shirt. It looks soft. There’s a choker clasped around his neck, a small silver ring swaying from the velvet. He looks young, eyes blinking innocently. Jihoon frowns. He almost thought he saw a flash of red, but no. His eyes are just black, glittering like broken glass and shattered onyx. 

“I-” Jihoon starts, then stops. He shouldn’t have come here. God, how stupid is he? He’s still ill, obviously, he just coughed up blood, for fuckssakes. He’ll infect everyone living in this house.

The boy laughs, more of a giggle than anything, high and clear. “Oh.” He tilts his head to look at the spit stain behind Jihoon, lips curling into a smile as he beckons. “It’s okay. Come inside.”

Confused, Jihoon complies automatically, some invisible force pulling at his chest, moving his legs until they cross the threshold.

“I’m Chan, by the way.”

“Jihoon,” he answers distractedly, dazed by what just happened and then too busy looking around the interior of the house, breathless from the luxury of it, the fancy decor.

It’s bigger than it looks outside, but maybe that’s because it’s mostly empty, save for some stray furniture and bookshelves. There are huge carpets lining the wood floors, plush and dyed dark. A massive staircase takes up most of the main room, leading up to a second floor and splitting off into different directions. Another boy lounges on its railing, face unreadable as he scribbles something in a notebook. He barely spares them a glance. Chan sighs loudly, pointedly. 

“That’s Junhui. He’s the one that-”

Junhui growls, suddenly right beside them. Jihoon steps back, frightened, but Chan just moves closer, chin cocked and eyebrows raised.

“Shut up,” Junhui warns. His eyes are bright red, and Jihoon is so, so lost and scared. Normal eyes should not be that color, and normal people should not move that fast. Junhui’s notebook suddenly goes flying out of his hands, smacking into the ceiling and fluttering to the ground. Jihoon flinches hard. Chan sneers. 

“Why? Don’t want him to know what you did to him?”

Jihoon frowns. “To who?”

“To you,” Chan says gleefully, just as Junhui blurts,  
“No one!”

Jihoon balks, but then that anger surges up again, and suddenly he’s the one crowding into Junhui’s space, lip curled. “What. What did you do to me.”

Junhui presses his lips together. Jihoon is abruptly furious, even as some part of him says he’s overreacting, to take a breath, but he can’t. Not when he has so many questions, and these people seem like they have answers.

“Tell me,” Jihoon begs, voice cracking a little. He coughs, and for some reason it makes Junhui wince, upset.

“Calm down,” he pleads, hands fluttering anxiously like he wants to touch. “Please, you’ll make it worse-”

Jihoon nearly screams. He opens his mouth to say, _make what worse?!_ but instead his stomach convulses, and he feels himself throw up, but it’s _wrong_.

“Christ,” Junhui swears, quickly moving to catch Jihoon as he stumbles, choking and horrified. “Chan, _please_ -”

“He’s your problem, now.” the younger sprints up the stairs, muttering darkly. 

“I. _Help me_ -.” Jihoon scrambles for something to hold even as he retches again, staring through hot tears as more vomit pours out of his mouth in thick, dark red streams. _Blood_ , some part of his brain screams wildly, and he’s dying for real this time, he has to be. Everything is so much and he can’t breathe and it tastes like warm metal and _Jesus Christ_ , Jihoon feels a thing deep inside his chest dislodge and _oh_ , he feels it working its way up his throat until it flies out of his mouth.

“What’s happening,” Jihoon gasps, eyes screwed shut tight in horror. He feels empty in the worst possible way. 

A careful hand brushes clumps of hair from his clammy forehead. “You’re in the process of-”

“Dying?”

A laugh, not unkind. “Becoming undead.”

Jihoon’s stomach rolls. He manages to choke out a, “What the fuck?” before promptly blacking out, the tang of bitter iron coating his tongue and teeth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is pretty much??? all we had written when i first posted the prologue thingy but we’re working on the next chapter! it’ll be up soon-ish -calli


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re a vampire.” 
> 
> A beat passes. Jihoon can’t help the laugh that bursts from his throat. “ _They’re not real_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy rly belated new year! um. finals happened for trin and i and then i was in japan for like a month during break, and now college is starting back up again but we finally finished the next chapter??? (i was supposed to update this like. last week oops.) forgive us for taking so long fuck i feel so bad!!!!! thanks for putting up with us though jfc -calli

Jihoon wakes on a couch, still in the same room he first stepped into. The blood is gone, dark wood floor as clean as it was before. Outside is much darker now, but his eyes adjust accordingly to the lack of light, save for a few candles on the chandelier that flicker softly above him. There is no one in the room with him, and Jihoon wonders if any of the two he met earlier even showed an ounce of concern as he crashed to the floor. Jihoon doesn’t recall either of the two moving a muscle as he lost consciousness. He curls his lip, huffing in irritation. _How dare they-_

Looking around frantically, Jihoon thinks again that maybe he shouldn’t have come here. He’s too weak for this; probably dying but somehow still alive. He should have died back in that alley. He was supposed to, but then that fucker, that Junhui man, came and did something to him, and fuck, Jihoon should be thankful he’s breathing, but he has absolutely no one left. There’s nothing left to live for. _Everyone is dead and gone his brother his mother his-_

Footsteps from the room over echo, fast and light against glass-smooth floor. The door flies open and a man enters, flanked by Chan. The stranger is relatively tall, straight blonde hair pushed back from his face. He looks well-kempt in comparison to the other men Jihoon’s seen around. His skin is blemish-free, smooth and pale; his features are sharply, breathtakingly handsome. Jihoon briefly entertains the idea of divine angels on Earth. With a jolt, he realizes the stranger’s eyes are bright red, flecked with black. The color is jarring, sending spikes of _wrong wrong wrong_ up Jihoon’s spine. 

“You must be Jihoon.” The man smiles, and Jihoon wants to retch again because there is, without a doubt, dark intention behind the pretty lift of his lips. Jihoon swallows hard, remembers the Bible story of the best, most beautiful angel ripped from his wings and disgraced, angry, bitter. 

“And who are you?” Jihoon bites back, pulling himself into a standing position, an attempt to make himself look bigger. He’s trembling and has no knowledge of the two’s capabilities but Jihoon is sure he can manage a few swings because hell, If he dies today, at least he won’t dielike a coward. Protectively, Chan steps in front of Jeonghan. His expression is calm, but his body language is hostile. 

“Calm down, Channie.” The man places a hand on Chan’s shoulder, grip tightening briefly in warning. “It’s only natural for him to be curious.” he pauses, eyeing Jihoon’s posture and grinning. “and a little feisty.”

Jihoon curls his fingers into a fist, watching the other's every move, but they stand so still that it begins to make Jihoon uneasy. They stand with perfect posture he’s only seen from soldiers: straight backs, feet planted at shoulder’s width, the blonde with his hands resting in his pockets, Chan with one hand folded over the wrist of his other. Their presence is heavy, but their physical being itself looks… soft, almost. Jihoon is, without doubt, in awe. It’s the kind that swells his tongue and makes his heart rabbit and his breath come quick, the kind that is fear veiled thinly under the pretense of amazement. 

“I hear Junhui has neglected to tell you what happened,” Jeonghan comments. He’s relaxed more, still staring Jihoon down with careful eyes. 

“Yes,” Jihoon says, wary. He’s suddenly, acutely aware of his throat. He can’t swallow. It burns. “I came here to find out why the _hell_ I’m not dead.” 

Jeonghan’s lips curl coldly upwards, a mockery of a smile. “Let me tell you something, Jihoon. Here, we don’t like secrets that keep people out of the dark. Here, we tell everyone everything.” He closes in on Jihoon, lips parted like he’s going to kiss him- “We make sure to push them to their utmost potential. So rest assured that you’re in safe hands now, Lee Jihoon. Don’t worry.”

“So tell me,” Jihoon spits, frustration bubbling in his stomach. His head is throbbing like he hasn’t slept in days, nothing seems to help his parched throat, and no one here is providing the answers he was hoping for. He wants to _scream_.

“You’re a vampire.” 

A beat passes. Jihoon can’t help the laugh that bursts from his throat. “ _They’re not real_.”

Jeonghan shrugs, oddly casual for the way he looks. “Believe what you want to. You’re becoming one whether you like it or not. You’ll vomit up everything inside until you’re nothing but a hollow shell, Lee Jihoon. You’re halfway there!” He laughs, the sound light and pretty.

Jihoon balks. “Don’t.”

“You’ll end up clawing out your own throat too, if you don’t eat something soon. I bet it’s hurting quite a lot. That burning, sandpaper feeling? It’ll just get worse.”

“Stop.”

“You have nothing left to go back to. No one waiting on you. Let me help.”

“You have potential,” Chan says carefully, staring. There’s something dark in there that Jihoon doesn’t want to unpack yet. A promise, maybe. “You’ll be safe here.”

_worthlessworthlessworthless let me help you make you into something beautiful lee jihoon you worthless let me let me let_

“Okay,” Jihoon whispers, like the words have been wrenched from his tongue seconds, months, years later. He feels oddly small and childlike. Chan looks away from him. “Okay.”

“Cute,” Jeonghan murmurs absently.

Chan laughs.

Underneath everything awful, Jihoon feels some small buried part of himself click into place, content.

He feels sick again.


End file.
